


Every Disaster has to Start Someplace

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Consent Issues, Cutting, Drug Addiction, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Truth be told - and every now and again it is - Loki's life is an endless series of dilemmas.</p><p> <br/>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as does <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1178773">Lies</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In some ways, college is just fucking great for learning.

"They were all idiots," he'd told his brother earlier, when Thor had come into his room _to talk_ after - as always, and only – being ordered to so do by- someone. Odin or Frigga; it doesn’t matter. "There wasn't a thing for me to learn there, so I stopped trying."

~

Really, that isn't true at all. Well, except the _idiots_ part, because there _is_ quite a lot of truth in that. And the part about stopping trying. Okay, so maybe a little of it _is_ true. What of it? Every good manipulator knows lying with the truth is the best approach anyway.

In terms of learning, though? Over the past two semesters he thinks he's actually managed to learn quite a _lot_.

That just about none of it was in his field of study, whatever the fuck that means? Hardly his fault. And his fault entirely. Because Loki's life is an endless series of dichotomies and dilemmas.

Truth be told, which has to happen from time to time, most of that learning wasn’t even in the classroom.

~

For example, he's learned alcohol is boring. Drinking alcohol is boring. It makes him tired, it makes everyone else stupid. Which is a problem for a lot of his fellow students, as few of them have anything to spare in the brains department to start with.

Even thinking about it now makes him yawn.

All that _stupid_ can be useful, though. Specifically, it can be put to good use if you want something. He's learned that, too.

All that aside, _alcohol is boring_ is actually only one example of a much broader Loki Truism: It's not the thing itself that's entertaining; it's the simple fact it's banned. Clandestine, sneaky, forbidden; all eye-catching, all good. There is a monster inside Loki, an evil, twisted monster bent on destroying all it touches, and that monster feasts most voraciously on the things it is denied.

He smiles to himself, because all that sounds so pompous and dire. In real life it’s closer to ridiculous. Seriously, he must have been a cat in some past incarnation. Forbid him something and it's Instant Obsession. Give it to him freely and he spurns it, with disdain.

Of course, it's not fair to say he learned that in college; he knew it going in. But he certainly didn't have as good a grasp on how unusual it is, not until he started making the mistake of mentioning his reasoning to others. He won't be making that particular mistake again.

He yawns once more and rolls over, hitching himself up to peer out the window and craning his neck to watch Thor push the lawn mower back and forth. His brother is shirtless and tan, football muscles bunched and straining. At this particular juncture he’s wrestling the noisy, smoking machine up and down the steep bank near the edge of the yard. He looks tasty.

 _Things the monster is denied._ For a minute or two Loki wavers, unable to decide if he should punish the guilty pleasure - the sickness inside - or indulge it.

Punishment wins out, this time. He keeps both hands up on his rumpled pillow. But he doesn’t stop watching.

This is just the tip of the learning iceberg. Okay, sure, maybe it's more the _core_ than the tip. Regardless, there is so, so much more:

Girls make better friends than guys, especially when you are tall and thin and long-haired and rather more pretty than handsome... and when you don't conform _properly_ to gender norms and - even though you don't really date, not because you’re too chicken like they all say but because you're saving yourself for someone and something forbidden - people start getting the picture you like men more than women. Not as friends, either.

People are petty and cruel.

Everyone claims to value difference and to scorn conformity; even in college, remarkably few actually do.

Girls are well worth observing, especially when it comes to learning how to flirt most effectively with the type of guys who are captains of their football teams. The same kind of guys who mow their parents' yards shirtless, utterly oblivious to the things they do to people.

Perfecting new skills requires diligent practice, even when you are Loki and have never once needed to apply the least hint of effort to anything.

Testing is important. When put to the test, what Loki learned from the girls works on the captain of at least one football team, far better than anticipated. It’s like magic, basically. Dangerous magic.

Being a cock tease can get you beaten pretty badly, even if you’re a guy yourself; enough so that you’re forced to miss a week of the classes you don't give two shits about anyway because one whole side of your face is various unflattering shades of purple and you keep coughing up blood.

Going to University Health Services accomplishes nothing from a medical perspective but gets you asked all sorts of awkward questions.

Blaming the victim is alive and well in Modern Scholastic America.

Girls use sex to keep hold of people they would lose otherwise.

Telling your roommate, whose company you don't particularly enjoy to start with, that the guy in the gay porno he catches you watching - _this_ guy, this one right here, buried to the hilt in a thin black-haired _person who is not female_ and who bears an uncanny resemblance to persons who will remain nameless - _looks just like your brother_ gets you a single room. At least it does if you're pointing emphatically at the screen with one hand and still fwapping away enthusiastically with the other. Loki would have to imagine that, from this same experience, his former roommate learned to knock. Bonus.

A single room is another thing that's really most alluring when it is forbidden. Too much time alone with nothing but your porn-brother-double for company is apparently conducive to the types of behaviors - skipping many classes, eating little, letting basic hygiene start to slide - which Worry Your RA.

A worried RA seems harmless but isn't. He waves his own magic wand, which turns out to be at least as magic as Loki’s, and _poof:_ counseling. 

If you behave a little too much like a girl, whether or not you _are_ one, college counselors try to pass off most of your crazy as drama. And then when you cut, because you can, they get mad at you for proving them wrong. Last but not least, when you tell one your cutting _was_ just drama, he gets even madder.

While Loki isn't a woman, he clearly has zero understanding of men. Maybe he's not a person at all. It’s hard to be certain.

Skipping meals because getting there just isn't worth the effort looks too much like an eating disorder and necessitates ridiculous amounts of explaining. This is even more true after certain incidents involving drama and cutting. In the end it's just easier to show up at least twice a day and eat something. Anything. No one cares if all you eat is chocolate pudding, except one rude food service worker.

Rude food service workers' comments take root in your brain and proceed to eat you alive from the inside out.

No one really cares how you are feeling. Everyone just wants you to make nice and not be a burden. Being honest scares people - or puts them off... or both - far more than lying does.

People like Trickster Loki, especially the new, improved model that comes complete with extra pranks and jokes. Unsurprisingly, they prefer his company when they aren't personally the focus of his attention. No one, though, likes Sad and Moping and Unable to Cope Loki. Not even the girls, past a certain point, will put up with him.

Classes are stupid. Students are, by and large, stupider.

If you let slip - as one of your pranks; just a bit of fun, really - that the captain of the football team has a particular taste for pretty men, it gets you beaten again.

Lying and saying you walked into a door really does work. Who knew?

The most useful lesson of all, though? _The big chalky-white pain pills the emergency room gives you when you have a fractured nose calm the noise inside your head._ They calm everything sufficiently, in fact, that you can actually get out of bed and function out in the world amongst humanity.

And with that particular lesson comes a series of equally useful corollaries: Football is a dangerous sport, its players plagued with painful injuries. Most football players only take the bare minimum – just one or two pills, usually - as it's manly to suck it up and deal. Threats of blackmail, applied judiciously and not overused, are a highly effective way to liberate a few of those pills from their owners. So, too, is doing someone else's homework, but more often than not that's too much effort to be worth it. Except perhaps for the delicious irony of acing someone else's homework and yet never bothering to do your own.

Getting greedy gets you caught. Getting caught gets you yet more worthless counseling. Letting a little too much of the truth – a little too much of the monster - out in counseling gets your parents (except they aren't your parents, as you learned over holiday break and were apparently expected to accept without drama) called and your poor little unfucked ass sent home just before finals. Oh well.

Taking a couple of pills here and there doesn't buy you a horrible withdrawal experience (not the sort Loki’s read about online, anyway). It's still far too similar to having the flu, though, so that's how you can explain it away to your not-mother.

When you take that in aggregate, it’s a lot. So much that Loki knows it’s really quite dishonest to claim he hasn’t learned _anything_.

~

 _Now that I'm home, though_ , Loki thinks with a sly smirk, _I can apply my skills_ (with proper focus, just like every good student has been repeatedly told to do) _towards the pursuit of a very specific goal: The successful seduction of Thor._ Which is not to be confused with the unsuccessful seduction of Thor, conducted over the last few years with insufficient skill and consistent (failure to obtain the desired) results.

~

Because sex lets you keep hold of people you might lose otherwise.

Brothers are supposed to be impossible to lose.

Much like parents.

Except all bets are off, because Odin and Frigga aren’t Loki’s parents and Thor isn’t his brother. Not really. Not anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the first time isn't all it's cracked up to be.

“Put some clothes on,” Thor snaps. “Other people live here too, you know.”

“ _They_ don’t come upstairs,” Loki points out, scratching his bare chest with one hand and pausing _just briefly enough that it could still be (mis)construed as unintentional_ over the opposite nipple. “And _you_ like it.” Thor might not yet – Loki can’t really get a consistent read on that, even when he catches his brother watching him surreptitiously – but give it time. He will.

“Stop being disgusting,” Thor grumbles, rolling on his side and turning his muscular back to Loki.

“Make me,” Loki jeers. What good is being the _little brother_ , really, if you can’t act like one occasionally?

~

He checks the calendar. It’s only the first week in June; even with his brother’s football camp looming on the horizon, there’s still time to play this slowly and subtly.

For now.

Loki is actually feeling a little better since he’s gotten home – a lot less crazy, if you will – and on top of that he has this engaging little project to keep him busy. Captains of football teams, though, seem to share a _damsel-in-distress-rescuing gene_. Consequently, from what he’s seen, a strong sympathy play is an important part of any successful offence.

He knows he has that one down, with two semesters of focused practice behind him. For the first week or so Loki takes to his bed whenever Thor is around, moping and wan, curtains drawn against the cheerful sunlight and one arm thrown artfully across his face.

This has the unexpectedly fortuitous effect of not only causing his (worried despite the usual pissy attitude; isn’t that _touching_ ) brother to check in on him more and more frequently but _also_ inspiring his- _Thor’s_ parents to encourage _their son_ to get the crazy little one out of the house more often. Together. Without said parents.

And the longer Thor procrastinates, the more forcefully Frigga and Odin nag.

It’s so, so perfect.

Thor dutifully peeks in several times a day. Sometimes he quietly asks Loki if he’s awake, probably in hopes of getting _out of the house more often._

Loki never says yes. In fact, he never says anything. However, just frequently enough to enhance the little tableau’s realism, he shifts in bed and rolls over with a weak, pitiful moan. Almost every time – total coincidence, of course – all that _shifting and rolling_ makes the covers catch on his long, thin, dextrous toes and pull down.

That Odin Borson believes air conditioning is for sissies is, for once, exceptionally convenient… because it means any right-minded person (and, therefore, any crazy one too) sleeps au naturel. Which – also total coincidence – makes that _catching and pulling_ a bit revealing.

See how this works? Drama is, after all, a recognized art form.

Maybe his brother stays and watches longer when that happens, maybe it’s just wishful thinking on Loki’s part. Either way, though, it’s not like Thor trips over those big, sturdy feet backpedaling for the door.

Speaking of the door, it squeaks… at the moment the latch releases, before said door is even cracked open. This might be annoying under (pretty much any) other circumstances, but it’s actually super-handy in this particular initiative; it gives Loki time to ensure his phone is dark and/or hidden from view before his brother can catch him surfing.

Because that would prove he was awake… and interfere with the carefully-crafted cycle of _shifting and pulling and revealing and watching._ Even more, it would spoil the illusion that Loki just happens to be caught in the middle of an, er, _inspiring_ dream each time.

And _that_ would be a fucking shame.

~

A few days into this particular exercise in social engineering, Thor does something new. Rather than simply peeking in, watching, and leaving, he comes in – latching the door behind him.

Loki rolls over, feigning sleep. Shift, catch, reveal.

Thor’s breath hitches, audibly.

Loki 1: Thor 0.

~

After that bed incident, he feels comfortable upping the ante.

The afternoon follows the usual pattern; Thor tries to avoid him – which his brother does whenever he is awake, in stark contrast to what takes place whenever Loki appears not to be – Frigga nags.

This time, though, they both give in and going out for a snack together happens.

"Did you miss me," Loki asks as they grab a not-particularly-clean table and start in on their food. The wing sauce is tasty, hot and buttery. He could use his napkin, but what fun would that be? Licking – sucking, even – his fingers carries with it much greater entertainment value. Tastes good, looks better. He arches an eyebrow at Thor.

"Huh?" His brother looks- poleaxed. It’s a nice change of pace from _disgusted_ and _annoyed_ , and perhaps the first time all summer Loki’s gotten to actually witness a little admiration first-hand. When his eyes are actually open.

"I didn't think so," he says, a little bitterly. Because, with the exception of the recent spate of drooling, Loki’s getting the feeling Thor wishes he would just up and disappear already.

Just like that, the moment passes. "Fuck you," Thor says nastily, glaring over a half-eaten wing.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," Loki tells his brother, just for spite. 

They don’t speak all the way home.

The following morning, though, the door creaks as Thor peeks in right on schedule.

~

Lying in bed quickly becomes intolerable. The more time Loki spends officially awake, though, the more time his brother spends out of the house.

He evens things back out by camping out in Thor's bedroom.

“What the fuck are you doing in here,” his brother hisses, not for the first time. “Don’t you have your own room?”

"Your computer is faster than mine," Loki explains, raking his wet hair back two-handed. He’s checked that particular move out in the bathroom mirror; it makes the muscles in his shoulders, such as they are, look pretty fucking good. "You don't mind if I use it, do you," he asks Thor, fighting hard not to smirk. This is delicate work and he needs not to blow it, especially not right before his brother leaves for football camp.

"No, of course not," his brother assures him after a long, long pause. "You can use it any time."

“Thank you,” Loki offers, turning at last to look over his shoulder with his best sunny, innocent smile.

~

Football camp is interminable. Loki hadn’t realized how nicely luring Thor had been passing the time.

It’s hard to eat and harder not to cut. And harder still to stay out of Odin’s path.

But he learns something important: He has to make this plan work, simply _has_ to, because he really doesn’t think he can survive here without his brother.

~

On the day Thor _finally_ comes back – it’s only been two weeks, but it feels like an epoch – Loki goes out on a limb and recklessly spins the dial up another five or six notches.

"It's good to see you,” he says, turning at the sound of his brother’s loud footsteps in the hall. Thor does everything loudly.

"I didn't expect you so early," Loki continues when Thor doesn’t answer. He’s trying hard to look sorry but undoubtedly falling short. "Oops?" He shrugs. When his brother still says nothing, Loki goes back to what he was doing.

Which just so happens to be watching that exact same porno that once cost him a roommate (and then kept him poor company in _solitary confinement_ in the days that followed). His brother, lacking all that backstory, doesn’t know how lucky he is; Loki has a nice hard-on going, sure, but at least he’s wearing something that might loosely pass for underwear. Not to mention he’s got both hands on the keyboard.

"Get the fuck out of my room," Thor demands, but this time it sounds more like pleading.

"But you said-."

" _Now, Loki! _"__

__He gets up and marches out, making no effort to cover himself. As he leaves, he slams the door._ _

__And then, when he’s sure Thor isn’t going to chase after him, he stays in the hall and listens for a few moments._ _

___Thor is watching the video._ _ _

__In an unexpected turnabout victory, Loki 2: Thor 0._ _

__~_ _

__Now that he knows he’s won a solid advantage, Loki works it._ _

__He wears as little as he can get away with – “you know this heat kills me!” – and cuddles as close as he dares._ _

__Any time they’re the only ones in the house, he wears nothing. Thor’s eyes burn into him like a branding iron._ _

__The two of them still bicker, sure – they _are_ brothers, after all - but Loki keeps taking chances and lets himself be more and more brazen. Eventually his brother’s protests begin to die out, increasingly replaced by stubborn silence, and he knows he’s really, truly getting somewhere._ _

__~_ _

__Right about then Odin and Frigga leave them _home alone_ , which is probably Loki 3: Thor 0._ _

__~_ _

__It turns out drinking isn’t always boring after all. Not in the right company, at least._ _

__~_ _

__“Cheers!” He goes to clink Thor’s glass and mostly misses, sloshing vodka all down both their arms. Loki’s so drunk the room is spinning. “Ooooh, I spilled all over your bed,” he squeals. “I think you should punish me.”_ _

__Despite everything, all the work and all the plotting, he’s caught off-guard when his brother _does_._ _

__Thor drops a half-full glass onto the bed and grabs his wrist, twisting it roughly and leaving Loki no choice but to faceplant into the bedding._ _

__When his brother presses up behind him after a short and pointless struggle, Loki – even in his current state – can’t help but notice Thor is just as hard as he is._ _

__~_ _

__Everything after that is a bit of a blur._ _

__Loki gets loose from his brother but falls and ends up sprawled on his back on the mattress. He thinks he’s not sure if it was accidental or on purpose._ _

__Somehow his pants end up around his knees, which just isn’t workable. He wriggles around and gets one foot free, which is better. Good enough, even, given the circumstances. Or maybe not, because Thor rips them off entirely._ _

__Somehow, after that, Loki’s knees end up around his ears… while he alternates between gasping for air and giggling uncontrollably as Thor tries to pin him. “I can’t believe you can even keep it up,” Loki taunts his brother, “not with how much you’ve had to drunk. To _drink_ ,” he corrects himself with a hiccup. “Drink drank drunk. Hah! I bet you don’t even know what to do with that thing,” he goes on, twisting to try and bat at Thor’s dick with one hand._ _

__~_ _

__It turns out Thor does know what to do with it. Mostly._ _

__The whole business hurts a lot more than Loki was expecting, vodka or no, and it’s a shit-ton less graceful than it looks in the movies. But he makes himself watch his brother’s face, memorizing everything as best he can – which probably isn’t very well, and whose bright idea was it to drink himself this fucking stupid anyway? – and wills himself not to scream._ _

__~_ _

__Fortunately for his poor asshole, especially after he comes without much warning and it all starts to feel like something important is going to tear, the whole encounter is also over a lot faster than he was expecting. It’s probably not 30 seconds afterwards that Thor pulls out with a low grunt and shoots jizz all over Loki’s face._ _

__On purpose or not, it’s so fucking typical. Loki can’t help but laugh, hysterically._ _

__~_ _

__He’s still laughing, still hysterically (even though nothing whatsoever feels anything like funny), a few minutes later when the vodka wins and they both stumble-race – hands clamped over their mouths and eyes bugging out - for the closest toilet._ _

__Once he gets puke all up in his nose, though, Loki knows with all the certainty his drunken brain can muster that he’s finally got license to cry. Which he does, until he’s not even sure what’s going to kill him._ _

__~_ _

__Some indeterminate amount of time later, slumped soggy and miserable against the bathtub, Loki’s drunkenly annoyed that he’s still not able to stop fucking crying. Hopefully tomorrow, if he hasn’t drowned - in his own puke; in his own tears - by then, he’ll feel a little bit clearer about the score._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If at first you don't succeed, go back to teh interwebz for better instructions.

"Fucking birds," Thor grumbles, wincing miserably, as he pulls his pillow over his head.

It’s Sunday morning. _Early_ Sunday morning.

The clock on Thor’s beside table read 4:00 AM exactly when they were both - finally! - sufficiently done with the dry heaves to be able to get a little water to go down and stay down. The last time Loki remembers seeing, as he lay curled up in his brother's big bed with the room still a little tilty and Thor snoring big hot, boozy gusts against his shoulder, is 4:18 AM. Now here it is only 4:27 AM and the first birds (who clearly weren't on quite such a vodka-downing mission yesterday evening) are already up and talking.

Of course, it's not the _birds_ that woke Loki; it's _Thor_. Thor who, already nearly asleep again not two minutes later, has one huge arm wrapped possessively around Loki's waist and a half-hard dick digging into his hip.

Thor pulls Loki close and rocks a little, rubbing that same dick roughly against his brother's rump, and for a few tense seconds Loki genuinely fears there's going to be a round two before the blood from round one has even dried completely... but almost before he can finish the thought the room is once again loud with Thor’s snoring.

The boa-constrictor grip around Loki's middle lessens; Thor's body twitches and jerks in sleep.

It doesn’t help; he’s totally wound up now. Loki sees 5:22 AM this time.

~

About ten dead-to-the-world hours later, cursing and squinting, they drag themselves out of bed. "Morning," Thor rasps fondly, nosing into the tangled mess of Loki's hair and planting a chapped-lipped kiss at the nape of his neck. “Are you okay, baby?” _And holy shit what a difference one drunken fuck makes._ Because Loki is now Thor's _precious flower_. It's so worth the pounding head and the burning, aching asshole.

It's also pretty fucking annoying, because Loki doesn't actually want to be _anyone's_ precious fucking _anything_.

That's his story and he is so, so sticking to it.

It’s been afternoon for hours, and he says so.

~

About 4:00 PM Thor is doing (losing) battle with the filthy sheets. Loki’s in the bathroom, taking turns scrubbing puke off of every single surface – seriously, how did someone get a pukey handprint on the _mirror??_ \- and gingerly washing his own tender backside, swearing to himself that he is never fucking another living thing ever. Not Thor, not anyone. No way. Never.

~

At 4:30 PM his brother’s cell phone rings. It’s Frigga calling to ask Thor, who does a beautifully-credible job of _talking like he's actually not dying of a hangover_ (it's such a well-done act, in fact, that Loki would be willing to claim it as his own… and that is saying something, especially considering this is Thor we’re talking about), if things are okay and if he thinks it would be a problem if she and _dad_ stayed at _Dr. and Mrs. Rich Assholes' cottage until Tuesday_. The answers to which are, of course, “couldn’t be better” and “not at all; have fun,” respectively.

_Be good, sweetie_ , she tells Loki when Thor passes the phone over. _Don't give your brother a hard time, now._

That’s so funny he almost snorts into the phone.

~

A little after 5:00 PM Loki - freshly armed with a hastily-chugged glass of water, three aspirin, a big slosh of mouthwash, eighteen minutes of precisely-targeted Internet research, and a scoop of crisco carefully smeared onto a piece of paper towel (after being neatly fished out of the tub with a spoon, because _nothing but nothing_ says _guilty_ like finger-shaped claw-marks in in the family crisco) - pants and writhes against the bedroom wall as Thor kisses him within an inch of his worthless little life.

“I have wanted you for so long,” his brother says against his ear (and that tongue – there, right there – does things to Loki he didn’t even realize were possible). “You have no fucking idea.”

Before Loki can answer, Thor’s tongue is out of his ear, along his jaw in a long, hot slide that makes him shudder, and back to roughly exploring his mouth. Which is okay, because he’s not quite sure how to respond to that anyway.

The next thing his brother says – more than a little nastily, several minutes later and punctuated by harsh gasps - is “if you- tell anyone- I said that- I swear- I’ll fucking kill you.”

Okay, that one’s easier, actually. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Loki growls back, laughing as Thor shoves him hard against the wall. 

But then they’re kissing again. Loki has _never_ been kissed like this, Thor’s tongue everywhere and teeth sunk in his lip, and that pretty much puts an end to any arguing.

~

The crisco makes all the difference in the world. As, for that matter, does following the instructions he just read online and kissing Thor silly as his brother uses first one and then two big, blunt fingers to get things started.

Still, it isn’t as easy as it looks. There’s an awful lot to keep track of, especially with your body _needing_ to take over.

It’s hard to concentrate long enough to remember to _push_ at the exact moment when pushing feels like the stupidest thing there is, and Loki isn’t quite sure he does it right, but – without the added benefit of being shitfaced (which isn’t an option, not now; the very thought of vodka has him fighting not to retch), too – it really doesn’t hurt all that badly. Not even when Thor’s dick catches briefly before finally sliding inside.

This time, instead of stifling a scream, Loki lets out a whimper.

His back-to-sweet brother leans down for another sloppy kiss. “Are you okay,” Thor asks quietly, breath coming in short bursts and brow furrowed. Because apparently _precious flowers_ are not supposed to need to whimper.

Loki kisses back instead of answering. He’s catching on.

Without more practice he really can’t do much to help things along but Thor gets there anyway, first this time. At the end his brother doesn’t pull out – not at all, which feels- interesting – politely (or something, but Loki’s going with _politely_ ) sparing him a second face-full.

Thor proves surprisingly generous, sober; without even having to hint, let alone ask outright, Loki is treated to a lovely crisco-slicked hand-job that leaves him spent and babbling.

~

It’s after 7:30 PM by the time they’re finally getting _two_ sets of sheets in the washing machine

~

They sleep in Loki’s bed this time.

They don’t fuck there, though.

~

Not until the following morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor is not a mind-reader.

“Come with me.” Thor sits cross-legged on the bed with Loki half-curled across his lap, carding his fingers slowly through Loki’s hair. “Please.”

“Where,” Loki asks, playing dumb on purpose because he’s in the mood to be difficult. Thor is leaving in two days, and yet here he sits on Loki’s bed like nothing is changing. Like nothing matters.

“To school,” Thor stresses, emphasizing the word _school_ , as though he genuinely thinks Loki doesn’t get what he means. “Come back to college with me this semester.”

“And- and what, exactly? Be your fucktoy? Do your laundry?” Deep down, Loki _wants_ to go with his brother. He wants it more than anything. Loki honestly cannot imagine spending months here alone without Thor to keep him company, and the idea of going a similarly long haul without getting laid – now that they’ve been doing it every chance they get, it’s become a bit of an obsession – isn’t a whole lot more appealing. But he can’t make himself stoop so low as to _say_ that. He doesn’t want to be anyone’s _pity fuck_ and, as nice as Thor is being now, his brother sports a lifelong history of casting aside toys once they start to lose their shine.

Based on Loki’s past experience his own shine wears off pretty quickly, right about the time he gets panicky and starts to cling. Even precious flowers wilt and fade.

So he snaps and hisses and pushes his brother away. To a safe distance. To an unsafe distance. The line between living and dead is awfully thin here. But he doesn’t want to be the one spurned, and the best way to prevent that is to do some preemptive spurning.

“You don’t want to go?” Thor’s stopped playing with Loki’s hair now, and his voice sounds- hurt. Good. See how _he_ likes not getting his way for a change, for once in his charmed fucking life.

“Why would I,” Loki asks, archly. He’s dodging the question but that’s not the sort of thing Thor would ever notice. It’s far too subtle. His brother never bothers with _subtle._

What he really, really wants, of course, is for Thor to volunteer a million good reasons. Loki wants very badly to- not even to be talked into going along, because that’s not possible; he will fight it tooth and nail, because he is compelled to ruin everything good that falls into his life. No, Loki wants – needs – to have the choice made for him. He wants Thor to sling him over a broad, tanned shoulder and carry him away.  
He wants that, desperately. But if he has to _ask for it,_ it isn’t real. Loving words he has to ask for are just empty husks. They mean nothing. So, he doesn’t ask.

“The world doesn’t revolve around _you,_ you know,” he says instead, when his brother doesn’t address the original question.

And when Thor doesn’t react to _that,_ either, Loki curls off his lap in an offended huff and burrows face-down into one of his many pillows. He holds his breath and wonders what it would feel like to suffocate. What it would feel like to have his brother suffocate him – to finally piss Thor off to the tipping point, to have those strong hands holding the pillow firmly over his face, knees on his shoulders, as he chokes and kicks and flails.

Because his body is always stupidly, ridiculously optimistic, even when his mind knows better.

“What will you do if you stay here,” Thor tries anew. He still sounds hurt, and perhaps a little annoyed. Something ugly in Loki rears up and grabs hold of the knife, twisting.

“Maybe I’ll just let myself die,” he mutters, speaking into the pillow. “That way you won’t have to be the guy whose little brother knows he’s a sick pervert.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Thor insists. “You know I hate it when you talk that way,” he goes on, sharply frustrated now. “It really isn’t funny.” He tries to pull the pillow free; Loki clings tightly to it, nearly hard enough to tear its case. In the end Thor gives up and shoves Loki roughly instead.

“Well, what are you going to do? Just tote me back to your school and parade me around, telling everyone in earshot _this is my brother and he lets me fuck him?_ ” He rolls on his side and comes up for air, face hot and sweating from the pillow. “Because say what you will,” he goes on, laughing, nasty and bitter, “I can’t exactly picture that happening.”

Thor makes an odd little noise. “Do you always have to be such an asshole?”

Ah, here we go. This is familiar ground, heavily trodden and instantly recognizable. “I learned from the best,” Loki mocks, brightly faux-cheerful. “Do _you_ always have to be so stupid?”

Thor pushes up from the bed abruptly; Loki rocks and lurches. “Fine, have it your way,” his brother growls. “Stay here and die. See if I care.” And with that Thor stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind himself with a vicious pull.

For about a minute, maybe, Loki feels smugly vindicated.

Then it _stings_.

And then the real hurt starts; the crushing, rending pain. Loki is a worthless, unlovable monster, and his brother – his own _brother,_ who has spent half the summer with his dick up Loki’s poor virgin ass, without so much as please or thank you, and who is now just going to walk away from it all unscathed and go back to his perfect fucking college football life while the world ends and the stars burn out around him – doesn’t give two shits if he lives or dies.

Not even one shit, for that matter.

Loki’s first few sobs – the extra-extra-loud ones, with his face pressed right up against the wall separating his room from Thor’s – may be partly for show. Partly.

The rest, though? The ones that tear themselves out of the depths of his chest when he realizes he’s gone too far and _Thor isn’t coming for him?_ Those couldn’t possibly be more real.

~

At the start of that final morning – the day he’s heading back to school – Thor invites himself in and stands shuffling awkwardly by Loki’s bed. “I’m worried about you,” he says, adding a rather damp-sounding “I’ll miss you,” when Loki lies rigidly motionless, silent, shirtless back to the door.

~

“Come down and say goodbye to your brother,” Odin commands later, from the foot of the stairs.

“It’s okay, I’ll go up,” Thor cuts in, and Loki hears the heavy tread of his brother’s boots on the hardwood.

He lies on his back, eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling, as Thor actually _kneels by the fucking bedside_.

“I love you,” his brother says, voice shaky. “I don’t think I can live without you.”

Because Loki is nothing if not spiteful and stubborn, he doesn’t say a word. When Thor takes his hand, Loki lies there limp. He doesn’t return his brother’s finger-squeeze.

Or his kiss.

~

He lies there unmoving, a single hot tear tracing its way along his temple, as everyone troops outside.

And as the front door closes behind them with a last loud thump.

He doesn’t even twitch until the car engine roars to life.

And then Loki lunges out of bed and sprints for the stairs, flying down them in two big sliding leaps. He crosses the foyer in one long stride and races out into the yard.

It’s too late. The back end of the car is just rounding the corner, pulling out onto the main road.

He’s missed his last chance.

Thor is gone.


End file.
